Destined To Follow In Her Footsteps
by Life-Is-For-Finding-Answers xx
Summary: Layton seems to have a problem with the Price blood line – especially the woman. When Molly Drake is shot with wounds that mirror her mothers, she is sent back to 1996. What greets her is unbelievable – even more so when she finds out how two crimes in two different decades are related. Will she fight Alex to return, or is Molly destined to follow in her footsteps? Post S3E8. Galex
1. Chapter One

**Authors Note: **_Hey everybody! Once you've read this, there is an important A/N at the bottom, thank you!_

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own anything from Ashes, and I'm not making any money from this._

* * *

_**Destined To Follow In Her Footsteps**_

_**Chapter One – The Twenties Are Here And Situations Are Looking Similar**_

* * *

Large hazel eyes stared up at the intimidating glass and steel buildings that surrounded her. Slowly she revolved around in a circle, her face expressing awe at their height. There was a gentle breeze from the east – this was unusual – but she didn't care. The clouds were knitted together heavily, bringing with them a sense of gloom.

_Colourless. _That was how her mother had described this world to her, and her mother before that. There was no feel of brightness or excitement anymore. In a world that is ruled solely by Law and Order, and kept a careful eye on by Big Brother, nobody could step out of order. Nobody could make a stand. Health a Safety dominated jobs and everyday lives, eliminating the possibility of fun. She had once thought that _fun _was a bad word, because nobody dared to say it.

On the backstreets, drug lords ruled. If you weren't a junkie then you were safe from their reign of terror, but in a stressful climate of recession that had been on-going since her mother was a child, there was a narrow fissure for escape. Police battled tirelessly with riots, and with the new, harsher punishments that had been introduced, more and more people were being arrested and imprisoned.

Her mother had told her that life hadn't always been like this, and that when she was younger, there had been colour and music and fun. However, she didn't talk much about life when she was a child and only a very, very small handful of people knew why. Most of them had died now anyway.

Education was another thing that bothered the younger hazel-eyed girl. She was bright, but in a world that had valued beauty over brains for such a long time, it was hard for people to accept that she was going places without financial support from the government.

Her hair blew gently in the wind. The sun was emerging from the clouds. It was another day for London, another day trapped in this dull and boring world.

"Sally Lewis, get back in here at once!" Pulled from her thoughts and feelings, the nine year old child turned to look at her mother. They looked so similar to each other, but apparently this was a family trait. "We're going to be late getting to your grandparents house."

Sally sighed, but strode obediently over to her mothers' black Audi and jumped in the front passenger seat. She didn't particularly like the Audi; everything about it was dark and dull; Sally preferred the latest Lexus. However, her mother had never liked Lexus cars, but nobody could fathom the reason. Leaning her head on the window, Sally tried desperately to catch a few last minute gazes of the high rise buildings that dominated her life.

Most people thought that her mother was a very strange person. She didn't interact with many other people apart from Sally or her husband, Matt. At the age of twenty, her mum had been promoted to Detective Sergeant. It was the same year that Sally had started school and began to realise the dreariness of the world they all lived in. Her mum was a Criminal Psychologist and, unlike most people in this era, she put her life on the line nearly every day.

"Honey, what's wrong? You're usually rather talkative," her mum probed. It was true. If there was an Olympic event for talking, she would win hands down. However, nobody could say that because, after the twenty-twelve Olympics crippled the country financially, it had become a bit of a taboo.

"Sorry, I'm thinking, that's all."

"You're always thinking. It'll get you into trouble." Another true point about this world. If you voiced too many opinions, it would land you in the cells.

"Sorry mum."

"No, it's not your fault. You're a bright little girl who doesn't fit with the crowd – I was like you once, but my isolation was brought on by something else." Sally felt an impending urge to ask what, but this was the sort of answer her mother gave to any question the related to her past. Sally could only assume something terrible had happened to her beloved mum when was younger, but nobody would elaborate on it.

Changing the subject before she was tempted to enquire, Sally piped up with, "So, what time are we getting to Nana's house?"

Sally had grown up with a slightly disjointed family. Her mother was sixteen when she fell pregnant, with only Matt and her God-Father to support her. Apparently Sally's Grandmother had died about thirteen years ago and her Grandfather was nowhere to be seen. Matt had no Grandparents, and his dad had died a few years ago. Mum's God-Father had died two years ago, but he had been a very old man.

"About half an hour, sweetie," was the reply Sally got.

And so the journey continued.

* * *

"Yeah, I've dropped her off."

"_Was she alright?"_

"Yeah, honey, she was fine. She always is."

"_I know. But I feel really bad about leaving her with them all the time."_

"Look, Matt. It's common practise these days, and we both need to get as much money as possible to set her future up."

"_If she's even got one."_ Matt muttered on his end.

She rolled her eyes, _ever the pessimistic one._

"Oh, shut it!" She said jokingly, "I'll see you tonight, yeah?"

"_Yep, sounds fine. Love you babe."_

"You too, you too." The line buzzed and went dead.

Her long mousey hair tumbled down her back as she continued to drive hands free through London towards Fenchurch East Police Station. She'd been working here since she was old enough to join and had slowly worked her way up the ranks. Unknown to her colleagues, she had an ulterior motive. Thirteen years ago, her mother had been killed by a lone gunman. He was never caught. For the last seven years that she'd been working at CID, she had tried hard to find the man responsible.

It had been a long, hard journey to put the tragic even behind her, and she still wasn't all the way there yet. The thing that hurt the most was the last thing that her mother ever said before they switched off the machines was:

"_Jean."_

That day, tears had fallen harder than ever from her deep brown eyes.

Over the next few months, she had researched, read and recorded everything she could find on _'Jean', _but to no avail. There was no way her mother knew a _'Jean'. _

Then, one day without warning and by complete coincidence, she heard a news story on the radio. It was about a body that had been found up in Hyde somewhere. They'd wanted to put houses on the land, when they'd stumbled across a body of PC –

"_Hello? Ma'am?" _

"Yes, what can I do for you?"

"_DCI Kitt wants to congratulate you on your success."_

"What? Spit it out Sergeant! I've just taken my daughter to her Grandparents, I'm heading over now."

"_He says you've been promoted to DCI effective immediately. You're heading up CID, Ma'am."_

Until this point, the twenty - five year old woman realised how alarmingly similar the atmosphere and conversation was. Except, last time, she'd been in the passenger seat.

However, this promotion was quite unexpected, but gratefully received. "Thanks, Sergeant. Can you send a message to Matt for me, please?"

"_Matt?"_

"Oh, yeah sorry, DCI Matthew Lewis of Drugs Squad."

"_Sure thing, bye Ma'am."_

Now, the over – the – phone promotion seemed a odd, but most things were fast tracked anyway, and, knowing DCI Kitt, the paperwork had been done weeks ago. Carrie, her friend was a prime example. She was promoted to DI by email!

Lost once again in thought, she found herself thinking of her mother. The radio buzzed for a second time.

"_Ma'am?"_

She sighed angrily, "What?"

"_I'm so very sorry, but a call came in a few minutes ago."_

"Yeah, where is it? Not Tower Bridge again? Why is that a popular suicide spot?"

"_Um, not that sort of call."_

The desk sergeant paused. She felt a chill run up her spine.

"_DCI Molly Lewis of CID, I regret to inform you that your husband, DCI Matt Lewis has been shot and killed by a lone gunman over by Millennium Bridge."_

Molly screamed.

* * *

**Authors Note:**

_The very first story I ever wrote was 'History Repeating Itself'. However, after it has been on Hiatus for a very long time, I've looked carefully at the idea and decided to change it. The new idea is so far, much different from the old one, and so if this takes off, I plan to delete 'Repeating'. _

_However, a lot of you wonderful readers have reviewed, favourite and alerted this story, and so I want you guys to be able to find it where, hopefully it is now better._

_There will be an A/N attached to 'Repeating' as well, just so everybody knows. Hopefully this one should be updated faster too!_

_Anyway, enough of my babble; over to you! Please tell me what you think – do you prefer this one or 'Repeating'?_

_Thank you, _

Finding Answers xx


	2. Chapter Two

**Authors Note: **_Gah! I'm so sorry for being AWOL! Please forgive me – the summer holidays passed in a blur and with all my revision I er – sorta forgot about my promise to update this fic soon o_O But on the plus side, the next couple of chapters are already written so I've got a head start! Anyway, enough of my babble, and on with the chapter!_

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own anything from Ashes, and I'm not making any money from this._

* * *

_**Destined To Follow In Her Footsteps**_

_**Chapter Two- The Nineties Are Back And The Mystery Deepens**_

* * *

Large hazel eyes stared up at the cerulean blue sky that surrounded her. Slowly, almost child-like, she revolved around in a circle, he face expressing awe at the scene. The house was typical of the era; a semi-detached, two bedrooms, red brick beauty; she had fallen in love with it at first sight. Even now, eleven years later, she couldn't escape its magnificence.

_Bright. Inviting. _That was how she described everything about this place. Sure, technology had advanced, and she was grateful for better computers and mobiles phones, but nothing that mattered had changed.

Her and her partner – personally and professionally – still policed how they used to, but now with slightly stricter rules and regulations. They were forced to fill in paperwork, but for her, it was second nature.

The Super had decided that they could run CID together, especially when a crime wave hit the city a few years back. He was still in charge of the A-Team, but she was charge of the B-Team. Together they fought allegations that what was going on between them would affect their work, and eventually they won. Nobody working at Fenchurch East now knew that they were living together and well, shagging.

But that was the way they liked it.

"Bolly Knickers!" Pulled from her thoughts by an impatient voice, Alex turned to face Gene.

Leaning casually on the doorframe in dark demin jeans and a black shirt, stood her protector. His gaze never left hers as they paused for a second to look deeply into each other's eyes. The hues of blue pierced Alex to her core, but she could already feel herself drowning in the immense sapphire lakes as a sense of calm swept over her. He still had it.

"What do you want?" She called back after righting her inappropriate feelings.

"Get your delightful arse back in 'ere pronto! I appear to 'ave burnt lunch." Rolling her eyes mockingly, Alex strode towards their house. Even after eleven years of living together, Alex was still trying to get him to cook. But sadly, to no avail.

"Alright, just coming," one last look at the front of house satisfied Alex and, pulling her long black jacket tighter around her, she stepped into the hallway.

* * *

_Her red heel connected with the frozen ground and gave out a loud 'thump'. Hands on hip, she was shaking with a mix of determination, devastation and distress. "I will _not _go in there without you."_

"_Bolls, ya 'ave to. You know the truth."_

"_No, I don't Gene. Think about it: what _exactly _have I found out? I'm dead? Yeah, because _that's _a great reason to go into Heaven."_

"_For most religions Bolls, being dead is a perfectly acceptable reason t' go t' Heaven. Most people believe it too."_

"_Yeah, but am I 'most people' Gene?"_

_She had him there. Tearing his gaze from her fiery hazel orbs, he watched as Nelson peeked his head out slowly from the Pub door. Glancing back at the beautiful and defiant woman standing in front of him, Gene shook his head slightly. Alex, who couldn't see Nelson, smiled sadly._

"_No Alex, yer not."_

* * *

"_So the board agreed unanimously that, after all the work you two did this month, you're able to head up CID together. Congratulations."_

* * *

_Alex stepped back and admired her handiwork. On the calendar she'd drawn a little cupid firing arrows. Turning back to Gene, she moved to sit on the edge of his desk. _

"_Well, Bolly, we've managed two years an' we haven't ripped each other's throats out yet!"_

"_I know, I'm impressed too," she ran her tongue over her top lip and drooped her lashes. "Shall we mark the occasion?"_

"_Oh yeah!" He replied with suggestive enthusiasm. _

* * *

"_What is it wiv this film, Bolls? We watch it every bloody year on the same bloody date; 21__st__ May. Why?"_

"_I don't know. It feels right to, I guess."_

"_Yer know, even after all this time, I still don't understand ya, Mrs Fruitcake."_

"_It's part of my charm, Gene."_

"_Yeah, that's not to only thing that charms – ow! What was that for?"_

"_For dragging this conversation into the gutter. Now, shush and watch the film."_

"_Dunno why ya wanna watch Dorothy get home, the world she ends up in seems much better, especially tha' fairy woman." _

"_I suppose, but she's got her family back in the other world. Anyway, I like Dorothy's red shoes."_

_There was a brief moment of silence that greeted Alex's ears. They seemed to have the same conversation every year, but eventually it had become part of tradition._

"_Ay, are they the ones you wear for –"_

"_-Yes, now shush," Alex concluded and the opening credits started to roll._

* * *

"You see Gene; it isn't hard, just scrape off the burnt bits and cover it with butter."

"Oh, alright Mrs Woman," he replied, grumbling at her endearing manner.

It was a Sunday afternoon in early November of 1996, and once again, Alex found herself teaching Gene to cook roast potatoes. When they'd first moved in together, his cuisine skills had astounded her, and she realised that she didn't need to cook very much. However, cooking _any _kind of potato seemed a problem, and so she always found herself correcting him.

Making the decision to turn her back on the Pub all those years ago was definitely the right one. Since then, her and Gene had battled Keats twice – and won – as well as helped several coppers cross over. The last one to cross had been from 2020, and so Alex had decided that suddenly, and for no reason, time here had sped up. Most days she and Gene didn't think about how long they'd been here, and Alex's memory of her previous life wasn't what it used to be.

It wasn't until Alex looked in the mirror one day and realised that she hadn't actually aged, that things started to get tricky. She still had some very vague contact with Evan - contact that Gene had put a stop to. "Why?" Alex had asked at the time. His reply had been simple:

"How did Alex Price get t' Alex Drake?"

She'd got married. To Peter Drake. And then...but after that, her memory is blank.

* * *

The corridors were always quiet at eight o'clock in the morning, but it was the way Gene and Alex liked it. This meant that they could talk freely about the secrets of the world and how to deal with each new copper that entered their kingdom.

Gene had discovered, by complete accident, that due to the increasing demand to fill in paperwork, personal files were arriving with transfer notes. Currently they were sitting down in Human Resources because Alex was running out of excuses to what was happening to their team. Of course, it helped that quite a few memories were wiped; the desk sergeant, Terry, Bammo, Jimmy and Poirot. The Super never batted an eyelid, but Gene and Alex did well to keep their heads down.

Last year, Gene had taken a much needed trip up to Manchester. Alex had the good sense not to ask why, because in her mind, she knew the answer. Manchester held a lot of memories; Sam's grave, _his_ grave and, of course, it was the rest place of the Railway Arms.

"Drake!" He called from his office across to hers, "Get in 'ere!"

"Gene, we've been through this before...you can't boss me about; we're of equal rank!"

"I know, but we t' discuss _important_ matters."

Laid out on the desk in front of him were the latest files from their new team. Each came with the same layout and information. Alex picked up the first and studied it.

_Name: WPC Jeanette Hale  
Date of Birth: 3__rd__ April 1990  
Date of Injury: 3__rd__ April 2019  
Medical State: Dead  
Age: 29  
Rank: DC  
Era To Return To: 1996  
Issue: Death related_

Snatching the next file, Gene read it out loud.

_Name: DC Harry Williams  
Date of Birth: 29__th__ September 1971  
Date of Injury: 24__th__ August 2015  
Medical State: Dead  
Age: 44  
Rank: DC  
Era To Return To: 1996  
Issue: Family related_

Frowning, Alex picked up the final one.

_Name: DS Matt Lewis  
Date of Birth: 5__th__ July 1995  
Date of Injury: 9__th__ November 2021  
Medical State: Dead  
Age: 27  
Rank: DCI  
Era To Return To: 1996  
Issue: Job related_

"Crap, what happened to this kid? He's twenty – seven years old. And he's dropped two ranks!"

"Ya sure, Alex? It's normally one." The confusion in Gene's voice was evident as he scanned the office watching them all come in. Even after knowing him for fifteen years, being his partner for thirteen and living with him for eleven, Alex could count on only her ten fingers how many times he'd called her by her Christian name. It was slightly concerning.

However, there wasn't a single trace of worry or fear to be found on the new coppers faces. Obviously getting to know each other better, laughter, light banter and smiles were etched on their faces and in their voices.

Glancing at the files once again, Alex replied confidently, "Yep, I'm certain. And...We have no DI."

"Wha'? Yer kidding?"

"Nope, there isn't one," she paused, "Why does this seem wrong already? Does something feel strange to you Gene?"

"Yeah, Bollykecks, it does." Downing his whiskey in one, Gene walked to the door of his glass office, "Something's stirring Alex, an' I don't like it."

* * *

The atmosphere in CID was unsurprisingly cheerful. The new coppers were grinning and laughing at and with each other, as if they'd been friends all their lives. Gene had already placed their name tags on the desks and typewriters so they knew where to go.

Settling down to a desk that was formerly Shaz's, Alex noticed a bright blonde, blue eyed woman staring at back at her. Smiling briefly, Alex turned back to Gene.

"Who's the WPC?" She enquired, scanning over the files.

"Jeanette Hale." Gene replied evenly, searching Alex's face for a reaction.

"You're kidding, right? No way."

"Yes way, Mrs Woman, but don't worry, it's just a name."

"And a bullet," Alex muttered under her breath. _Where did that come from? _

What puzzled Alex the most, was not the fact she's started saying things that made no sense, but that she's started having strange dreams. In one of them, she remembered somebody shouting and waving around a gun. She felt the cold, rigid barrel of a gun again her temple. There was a man...but she couldn't quite remember. It had felt so real.

The next person to catch her eye was DC Harry Williams. He was quite old, and Alex wondered what had brought him here. When he caught her eye, he winked and smirked at her before giving her the once over.

"Ugh, I don't like the DC."

"Why?" Gene questioned; Alex never said that unless she'd at least spoken the new coppers.

"He's slimy; he gave me the once over."

"Well," Gene started, peering at her arse, "Can't blame him really, but I'll keep an eye on him fer ya Bolls."

Alex smiled at him and, double checking nobody was looking, leant forward to kiss him.

"Now, let's go introduce ourselves."

* * *

Gene, in his typical manner, yanked open the door and watched as they fell silent in his presence. Alex crept out behind him and took her place by her desk.

"Right then, you lot! Me name's Gene Hunt and I'm your DCI. Fer those of you who don't know, it's nine oh six on Monday morning and the year is 1996."

His last remark caused some confused faces to appear. Of course, this was the usual introduction and it always sparked a laugh from Alex.

"An' this delightful pain the arse by the door is DCI Alex Drake who also heads up CID. Now –"

"I'm sorry I'm late! The bastard alarm clock broke and then I couldn't find my shirt!"

Out of the blue, and quite frankly a little scarily, a young man in his late twenties came barging through the double doors at a quick rate of knot. A sandy mass of boyish curls fell around his smooth cheeks and the fringe narrowly missed his eyes. Alex thought he looked rather attractive, and the ring on his finger suggested that somebody else thought so too.

"An' who the 'ell are you?" Alex knew that Gene was being typically harsh to keep them in line.

Fear seemed to invade the young man's movement causing him to freeze. "Um...I'm...I mean...My name is Matt Lewis."

"Ah, DS Matt Lewis, thank you for gracing us with your presence!"

"DS?" he frowned.

"Yeah, got a problem?" Gene challenged, narrowing his eyes.

"Um, no. No problem."

"Now, as I was saying, we're missing a DI, but I'm sure they'll turn up soon. DCI Drake?" he concluded, allowing her to give the next instructions.

Until now, this was all usual procedure. Usually somebody turned up late; it was the world's way of allowing Gene to show just how harsh he could be. However, if anybody had looked closely at DS Matt Lewis, they'd have seen something rather surprising. As soon as Gene mentioned 'Drake', his eyes seem to widen slightly showing off the deep aqua ripples that surrounded his pupils. His mouth also twitched with what could have been perceived as recognition. Turning his head to face her properly, he was shocked.

Although her hair was shorter and cropped into the latest style, Matt felt something familiar about her general appearance. She had soft eyes that differed from green, brown and hazel depending on the lighting. DCI Drake's stance was very, _very _familiar. But why? Matt suddenly realised that he was staring and that his superior officer was talking.

"-Yes, now, if you could all get on with the latest case files, please, we need some organisation. Go – Mush!"

Throwing a sly look at Alex, Gene smiled slightly; he's been rubbing off on her. Deciding to put his mind at rest, Matt rose cautiously from his seat and wondered over to Alex's desk.

"Ma'am?"

"Yes, DS Lewis?"

"Please, call me Matt. Um, you don't know a Molly Drake, do you?" A frown appeared on Alex's face, "It's just you have to same last name and..."

"Molly was...is...somebody I used to know. I can't remember." Her breathing picked up slightly and the panic started to spread. Blood froze. Muscles quaked. There was something about the name that recognised, but she couldn't remember. She couldn't remember!

Slamming her hands frantically on the desk, her wide eyes were enough to scare Matt off. Appearing in the doorway to his office, Gene froze as he watched Alex scream and shout. Something was wrong about the whole thing; they'd known each other for fifteen years and he'd never had any 'future' shit from her since she refused the Pub.

Still, it didn't change the fact that whatever DS Lewis had said to her had caused great anxiety as she cried out, "Gene!" Her voice broke slightly, "Gene, I can't remember!"

* * *

_The circle on the calendar wasn't going away. It was definitely here and the date wasn't going to change. Every year, on the 20__th__ July, she did the same thing. Opening the box and lifting out the carefully decorated cake, she grabbed the matchsticks and stuck a flame._

"_We'll blow the candles out together."_

* * *

**Authors Note: **_Not too bad, I hope! As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and feel free to leave a review :) also, there's a poll on my profile page – do check it out!_

Finding Answers xx


	3. Chapter Three

**Authors Note: **_Hiya :) I'm really sorry for being AWOL for like ages, but I've been so busy...you know the drill, exams, revision...real life! *sighs* never mind - enough babble, here's the next instalment! _

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own anything to do with Ashes, apart from the characters I made up_

* * *

_**Destined To Follow In Her Footsteps**_

_**Chapter Three-Bullet Wounds Are Back And The Turmoil Begins Again**_

* * *

"Ma'am? Would you like a cup of tea?"

Almost child - like in her posture, Molly Lewis was sat cross – legged on a sofa chair in her office. Head bowed, she refused to speak to anybody or even ask what happened to him. Her brown hair had hues of auburn entwined into it as Shelby – Ann Thomas stood over her. Parts of Molly's hair were ruffled from where she'd been running her fingers through it. Occasionally she sniffed and muffled a sob before reaching out for another tissue. She's been like this for almost an hour.

Nobody at Fenchurch had ever seen DCI Molly Lewis behave in this manner before. Yet again, nobody knew her past. When her mother had been cruelly stolen from her thirteen years ago, Molly had pulled herself violently away from society. Evan had suggested counselling or a psychologist, but Molly knew she had to deal with it on her own. Just like Alex had done when she was little.

Molly had found the perfect way to deal with the heartbreak and anger at the injustice. Over a course of several months, she'd learned to conceal her emotions from other people. Putting up a mask was a brilliant idea because nobody ever knew what she was really feeling and, not even Evan attempted to notice when something was wrong. At just twelve and half years old, Molly found herself lost in the persona she'd created. Nobody could find her.

When she was sixteen, Molly fell pregnant with Sally. Strangely enough, both Matt and Molly were very pleased and two years later they were married. Underneath her mask, Molly knew that changing her name felt like betraying her mother, as if she didn't belong to Alex any more. But Matt understood. Completely. While they were home, Molly could remove her mask and show real feelings. He was perfect for her, and Molly loved him for it.

But now...she couldn't even think. Almost straight away the mask had come back again, and Molly made a conscious decision to only talk to somebody who understood. Shelby.

Lifting her head, Molly looked her in the eye. "Yes. Yes I think I will." There were no tear stains streaking her face and no blotches to ruin her beauty. Suddenly, Molly excepted the facts: Their lives were dangerous.

It hadn't struck her how to tell her daughter; all she was concerned with was finding the killer. And returning to work. Some people thought it was heartless, but in 2021, parents had a different job to do, and sometimes it meant forgetting about their children.

A sigh escaped her delicate pink lips. She was turning into Alex. _Alex_.

Her mother. That bloody Lexus. Papers over the backseat.

"_Schizo? Delusional? What's the German one? Is he going in 'The Book'?"_

The Book.

_The Book._ These new thoughts and connections running wild in her head were forcing her to run on adrenaline. The answer had been staring her in the face.

Tantalizingly, in case she changed her mind, Molly started to uncross her legs. When she stood up, she threw a glance around the dull, rigid and orderly Squad Room and nodded to herself.

Calling into the kitchenette to Shelby, Molly marched out of the room. "I'll see you later, Shelbs. I've got something I need to look into." Her voice travelled back to the kitchen and by the time Shelby came to look, Molly was already long gone.

* * *

Three hours later, Molly's house was unrecognisable.

Paperwork was scattered everywhere. The plain dark lino flooring was now covered in a disorganised ice white pattern. On the dark sliver three piece sofa, sat Molly's two iPads when they should have been placed on the sideboard. However, the sideboard was covered in medical information for both Alex Drake and Sam Tyler, along with brain scans, coma statistics and their private patient files.

Dispersed over the remaining floor between the white wooden table and the beginning of the kitchen area were Alex's notes for her book on Sam Tyler. Molly remembered mocking at Sam's recordings when she was younger – _"Am I mad, in a coma, or back in time?"_ – But now they seemed to hold the answer to everything she valued.

Molly liked to think that she was an analytical person as well as logical, and so she started by re-listening to Sam's psychological evaluation notes.

_My name is Sam Tyler. I had an accident and I woke in 1973. Am I mad, in a coma or back in time? Whatever's happened, it's like I've landed on a different planet. Now maybe if I can work out the reason, I can get home._

_But it's funny, now that I _am _home, it doesn't feel right. When you walk around the local parks or even town, how many people do you see actually talking to each other? It's all fake. Everything revolves around technology and nobody really listens. The colour has been drained from clothing, the buildings...and even life._

_1973 was...well, it was unbelievable. I didn't like it at first; some of the characters were slightly unsavoury. And the policing was awful. But in a strange way, it was better. All the coppers were out on the streets catching scum – I mean, criminals and they got better results. They weren't bogged down with rules and regulations or health and safety._

_I became fond of these people. They were no longer constructs of a dying brain. They were real people. Ray Carling was a woman's worst nightmare. Misogynistic, pig-headed and a lung full of tar, he seemed to hate me the most. However, soon he appeared to change and soften slightly. Chris Skelton was as nervous as a virgin in a brothel! I mean...oh shit. Wait, no! Sorry Chris, not nervous, just cautious. And finally, Gene Hunt. Well, here's how I usually describe him... overweight, over-the-hill, nicotine-stained, borderline alcoholic homophobe with a superiority complex and an unhealthy obsession with male bonding. But, he had some amazing qualities about him too, but you'd have to meet him to understand._

_And I made a promise to somebody there that I care about very much. Annie Cartwright. I need to fulfil it. And to do so, I need to get back. _

_This is DI...No, DCI Sam Tyler of the Greater Manchester Police._

Ray Carling. Chris Skelton. Gene Hunt.

_Gene...Gene. _

Without warning and haunted at an impossible idea, Molly's eyes snapped open. Thirteen years ago when Alex had been in her coma, it wasn't _Jean _she'd said, it was _Gene. _Gene Hunt.

But how...How could Alex have _possibly _known that, unless she'd met him? If so, _where_ had she met him?

But the question was Molly should have asked, was not _where_ or _how_, it was _when._

* * *

Deciding that this was too much to comprehend without checking the extensive personnel file department at CID, Molly started to gather up all her paperwork. After filling two boxes and placing a pile aimlessly on the backseat of her dreary looking car, Molly set off back to CID.

However, questions still ran through her head about how Alex knew Gene Hunt. As a child, she was sure he'd never been mentioned. Whether it was her mind playing tricks on her or not, Molly swore blind that the clouds were gathering overhead. But that wasn't all either; something in the atmosphere and something in her heart was stirring. It felt like the end, but maybe it was just the beginning.

* * *

Cutting the engine to the Audi, Molly paused for a minute, listening to a song that had started on her MP3 Player. _So I drink in the shadows. _Molly knew that most of the technology she chose to use was fairly old, but yet again, technological advances could only go so far. _The stars look so special. _The first verse of the song had already passed her by, but it was only now she started to listen properly. The words didn't really seem to make much sense to begin with. _Time to question the mountain. _What was this song? Molly asked herself. She'd never heard it before, yet it felt significant.

On the passenger side of dashboard there was a touch screen. Now that every car was fitted with Wi-Fi as standard, it was easy to answer any question using the internet. Bringing up Google Mystic – the latest search engine – Molly began to touch type. _Lyrics – so I drink in the shadows; the stars look so special; time to question the mountain._

Seconds later, she had only one result. Tapping on the link, it took her to a 'Golden Oldies' page of music Pre-Millennium. This caused a frown to appear across her beautiful features and questions to dance in her hazel eyes. Scanning the page, she soon found the song information.

The song was entitled 'Seven Years in Tibet'. It had been written, composed and sang by David Bowie, a famous singer from the era. It had been great hit at the time, and his lyrics were some of the best. The release year, 1997, puzzled Molly since it meant nothing to her. Why should she be getting concerned about a song? As she scanned the lyrics, only one line stood out.

_Nothing ever goes away._

A familiar sense of dread filled Molly, and in a blink of an eye, she'd grabbed her handbag, shut off the internet and was scrambling out the car. This was too close to home; it was too close for comfort.

"_Mum, why have you got this?"_

"_It's for my research, Molls."_

"_But it's a name of a song...a very old song at that; it was released in 1971."_

"_Yes, but remember honey, everything is significant."_

* * *

"Ma'am?" Shelby called out as she rounded the corner of the Human Resource Department. She'd noticed that Molly had disappeared about half an hour ago, and finally, Shelby had tracked her down.

The layout of Human Resources was unique. Upon entering the door, you must scan your badge and state what you're looking for. Then the internal door opens. There are twenty rows of shelves and each can hold at least two thousand manila files. The majority of things here were Pre-Millennium, but there were a dozen Police Constables working around the clock to transfer them all onto the main computer. From there, all personnel can access the files from their iPads, Azotics or Siennas. The latter two were the latest in technology.

However, Molly was sitting in the furthermost corner of the room – a space that Shelby had never even _seen _since she'd been in the force. This was because the oldest files were kept there – the ones from the late nineteen sixties, seventies and eighties. Approaching slowly, but cautiously, the sight that greeted Shelby was quite shocking.

Surrounding Molly on the floor were case files, personnel files and suspect evidence dating back fifty years. There was picture after picture of various famous coppers – mostly DCIs and DIs – in Molly's lap, but still she was searching frantically.

"Ma'am, what ya lookin' for?" Shelby asked tentatively, tapping her friend, and superior office, on the shoulder.

"_Him." _Molly said bluntly, her eyes not leaving the files. "I want to find out if he was real or whether my mother and I are mad."

"Yer not mad, Molls." Shelby sat down next to Molly, and started to tidy away a few files. "What's all this about?"

"It doesn't matter. You wouldn't understand."

Shelby raised her eyebrows and started to reorganise all the files into chronological order. "Yer been through all the files, now wha'? Ya wanna start on the nineties?"

Shelby had meant it as a joke, but Molly turned to face her solemnly. "No, there's no mention of the nineties that I know of. Which means...it means that he wasn't real. What how is that possible? Did mum create him in his head as a side effect of her coma? A few dying brain cells trying to piece together a puzzle left by Sam Tyler? Sam bloody Tyler! I almost forgot about him. He made accounts of Gene Hunt; they described him in perfect detail. Then...then a few years before my mother died, I found her diary." Suddenly Molly's eyes looked tired, sleepy and distant. Shelby perked up her ears; Molly never talked about her mother.

"She described the day her parents died. The bomb, the upset and...Her hero. There was a man in a long black coat that came and comforted her. He took her hand...and the pain went away. Then he scooped her up and took her back to a police station. When she arrived, the ceiling was like a chess board and she remembered hearing somebody complain that it was giving them a headache.

"Then she was picked up a perched on a desk. She remembered looking at the name plate. It was a familiar name – she'd heard her mother talk about this lady before. The name was DI Drake. From her position on the desk, Evan, her godfather was running his hands through his hair. He looked upset and undecided. There was another police officer – DCI Hunt – who said that if she had any problems all she had to do was "call the Gene Genie."

"Several years later there was something extra added to the diary entry. It was quite strange. The entry talked about how there had been another police officer in the office with DCI in 1981. But it wasn't a man, it was a woman. She had tightly permed hair, blue demin jeans and satin off - the- shoulder top. My mother wrote that she didn't know her name, but, at the time of this entry, she recognised her. Apparently, she and DCI Hunt had come knocking on her door asking to see Pete. The entry was dated January 1997."

As Molly wiped away the few tears that had escaped, Shelby was mulling over the story. There didn't seem to be much wrong with it – apart from the fact there is no mention of a DCI Hunt or DI Drake in the entire records system. Molly started to talk again, her delicate lips struggling for words.

"I know now that it wasn't Evan who rescued her, like mum thought. It was DCI Hunt, and for some reason, she mentioned his name during her coma."

Shelby was about to ask why Molly wanted answers _now_, over thirteen years later, but they were interrupted by a voice behind them. "DCI Lewis, DS Thomas, there's a girl in reception who is requesting to see you."

Shelby snapped back into professionalism, "Can't one of the Police Constables see t' it, we're a bit busy at the moment."

"No...Not really. She's panicked. And...She asked for DCI Lewis specifically."

"Sounds like association syndrome and adult reliance to me. We'll be along in a few minutes – take her to Suite One."

* * *

As Molly sat at her heavy black desk, she started to type out the interview tape. When she and Shelby had entered the Suite, the sight of the girl had been shocking. She had pushed herself as far into the corner at possible and her back and shoulders were hunched in an awkward position. Dangling limply from her head were strands of greasy and knotted brown hair. Hollow eyes had met Molly's with an expression of relief, fear and helplessness.

Shaking the image of the girl from her head, Molly pressed _play _on the digital recorder.

"_This interview was conducted in Suite One. Present are DCI Molly Lewis of CID and DS Shelby-Ann Thomas of CID. We are interviewing a possible attack or rape victim. Interview commenced on Tuesday 11__th__ November at fifteen thirty-seven."_

"_Hey, it's okay, we're not going to hurt you. My name is DCI Lewis, but you can call me Molly. This is DS Shelby Thomas. What's your name?"_

"_My name is Annie. I'm not afraid anymore, how do you do that?"_

"_It's called relaxation therapy. It helps to calm down suspects mostly, but it is a nice feeling for people who are full of fear."_

"_Thanks, Molly."_

"_No problem. Now, why have you come to see us?"_

There was rustling on the tape, and in the camera view, Molly remembered the girl took off her hoodie.

"_I was attacked. It was a man. He was about your height with dark brown hair. He had a husky voice, but all he said were names. Like a chant."_

"_What names did he say, Annie?"_

"_Umm...Alex, I think. Yeah, that was it. Alex and Molly."_

At this point Molly turned off the recorder. This was too much for her.

* * *

"Ma'am, you're not going t' believe this," Shelby said as they strolled through the CID Squad Room. "There's been another attack; the girl is waiting in Suite Two."

When they arrived at Suite Two, Molly honestly thought it was Annie. They two girls were the same height, had the same hair colour, and even had the same _eye _colour. Additionally, they had the same wounds on their bodies and both claimed the guy had said the names "Alex" and "Molly".

Piecing together the information on this case was hard, despite the technology. It appeared that the man had worn gloves, used a clean knife and worn a balaclava. Great.

"Right then!" Molly called out to CID. "This has become one of our toughest cases yet. I want results! These attacks have been planned and carefully followed through. Myself and DS Thomas will be going to assess the crime scenes while the rest of you can divide the following tasks between you: searching for suspects with previous, revisiting old case files for similarities and keeping an eye on forensics. Shelby – lets go."

* * *

Reaching over to the backseat, Shelby continued to brainstorm about the case "It appears to follow a standard pattern – killing girls that look like each other. Maybe he had a bad relationship?" Her aqua blue eyes scanned the piece of paper that she'd retrieved from the backseat, "What's this?"

Molly glanced quickly as they continued to drive, "Oh...It's nothing."

"_My name is Sam Tyler. I had an accident and I woke in 1973. Am I mad, in a coma or back in time? Whatever's happened, it's like I've landed on a different planet. Now maybe if I can work out the reason, I can get home." _Shelby smirked. "Yeah, whatever. That is so...Lame!"

"Shelbs, return _my _classified documents, thank you. You don't have clearance." Slightly sulkily, Shelby threw them on the backseat. Naturally, the pesky things wouldn't stay in the manila folder and so, using her internal mirrors, Molly watched as they spilt all over the leather seats.

"So then...this guy, Tyler..." Shelby started, looking out the window. Her delicate painted nails tapped on the bottom of the window. She hated car journeys.

"He died." Molly replied bluntly. "A long time ago; April 2007."

"So then, what you thinking? Schizo? Delusional? What's the German one? Is he going in 'The Book'?"

"What book?" Molly enquired suspiciously. "I'm not writing a book. Not like Alex." Molly started shaking her head frantically, "No. Never like Alex!"

Suddenly the car screeched to halt outside a red brick house. Shelby instantly slammed her hands on the dashboard for support and glared at Molly. "What was that for?"

But Molly didn't hear her. A gut wrenching feeling was spreading through her body. It was indescribable, but it shook her – mentally and physically. Head reeling, Molly rubbed her hands violently over her face. The feeling wasn't guilt or surprise, sorrow or anger.

It was familiarity.

Dreaded familiarity.

"Molly?" Shelby enquired, "We're here Ma'am. This is where Annie was attacked."

Slowly and silently, they both stepped out of the car and walked towards the alley. It was nestled between two beautiful red brick houses. They were pre-Millennium, obviously, but still...Molly wouldn't have minded living there. The area had a very good reputation – something like these attacks just didn't happen here.

"I'll check the alleyway; you go and interview the neighbours."

And so they diverged from each other to pursue the different paths. Molly set about down the alleyway. It wasn't particularly long or narrow, but it was very dark. At the other end, illuminated by a streak of sunlight, stood a hunched over man. "Hello?" Molly called out, but received no reply.

The figure started to walk closer to her, but still he didn't say anything. Molly felt slightly disturbed and in all honesty, a little scared. Eventually he was in evaluation distance, and so Molly built up a quick profile.

His stance was suspicious and protective – what was he hiding? Molly estimated his age at late fifties to early sixties. Greasy grey hair fell limply around is wrinkled face. There were large dark circles around his hollow eyes - a mark of alcoholism.

"I've been waiting for you." Sleaziness crept into his voice; it was already tinted with expectancy.

"My name is DCI Molly Lewis, who are you?"

"I know who you are, love. Me name's Arthur Layton." He smiled crookedly straight at Molly and took another step towards her. Then he started mumbling and reached into his pocket. _"Nothing ever goes away..._How's your mother, Molly?"

"Who are you? What you know about me? How do you know my name?"

"I know everything about you Molly Drake, and how your mother died."

"My mother's been dead for a very long time...What's that got to do with anything?"

Slowly his hand moved out of his left pocket as he put on a pair of dark, reflective sunglasses. A crooked smile was playing on his lips and he continued to mutter. One line stood out to Molly, a in a brief second she realised what was going to happen, "You'll find out soon..." he replied.

* * *

"Ma'am? Hello? Ma'am?" Shelby walked slowly towards the alleyway. Molly had been gone for over half an hour, and Shelby was starting to get worried. Although Molly made a good DCI, Shelby still saw her as a little sister, one she should protect. Rounding the corner to the alleyway, no amount of police training could prepare her for the scene laid out in front of Shelby's eyes.

Surrounded in a pool of scarlet liquid from a head wound led a mid-twenties brown haired woman. She was led flat out on the cold concrete with a puzzled expression on her face. The blood had tinged her white shirt and seeped into the tidy creases of her trousers. The blood was still pouring from a bullet wound in her forehead. Sorrow and fear invaded Shelby as she gazed upon the body.

It was Molly.

* * *

**Authors Note: **_A big thankyou to everybody who has stuck with it - especial those few that have reviewed - you're great! __Apologies for the cliffhanger! Hope you liked it, and please leave your thoughts and feedback :) _

Finding Answers xx


	4. Chapter Four

**Authors Note:**_First off, I can only assume that there's at least a few people out there who are still reading. Needless to say, there's a poll on my profile page that allows you to vote for the story you want updated next - please vote! Anyways, on with the show :)_

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own Ashes at all, I can only wish!_

* * *

_**Destined To Follow In Her Footsteps**_

_**Chapter Four-Molly Is Back And The Heartbreak Continues**_

* * *

"Alex love, do you wanna cuppa?"

Almost child - like in her posture, Alex Drake was sat cross – legged on Gene's desk in his office. Head bowed, she refused to speak to anybody or even ask how Matt knew the name. Her brown hair had hues of auburn entwined into it as Gene stood over her. Parts of Alex's hair were ruffled from where she'd been running her fingers through it. Occasionally she sniffed and muffled a sob before reaching out for another tissue. She's been like this for almost an hour.

Nobody at Fenchurch had ever seen DCI Alex Drake behave in this manner before. Yet again, nobody knew her past. It hadn't all been plain sailing living in Gene's world, and there were some things that confused her, even now. For example, Alex hadn't heard the name "Molly" in over thirteen years and no longer knew why it meant something to her. However, Alex hated forgetting important things and so had panicked when she couldn't remember.

Another thing she seemed to find funny was the age thing. Technically, she should almost fifty by now and Gene, if she took his birthday as 1933, should be about sixty three. But they didn't look a day over thirty five and forty five, respectively. This was because they didn't age. Every time new recruits came in, their birth years changed to keep them at thirty five and forty seven. Like everybody else, they celebrated their birthdays as and when they came about, but neither Gene or Alex let on that they'd had already celebrated that particular birthday. They were just thankful that the last team, who been there for quite a while, never noticed.

Currently though, Alex was torn. She wanted to question DS Lewis thoroughly about what he knew, but she also wanted to go home. _Home. Where was that? _The trail of thought jogged through her mind. She remembered saying on more than one occasion, but it was a long time ago.

Looking up into Gene's beautiful, but concerned eyes, she gave her reply, "Yes please. I think I will." As he turned away, Alex tentatively uncrossed her legs and allowed them to dangle off the edge of the desk. The blinds were closed, enveloping her in their aquamarine atmosphere. After much persuasion from her, Gene had finally – in 1991 – changed the colour of the blinds. It made everything seem more inviting.

Suddenly, a vivid memory passed through her head. That bloody Lexus. Papers over the backseat.

"_Schizo? Delusional? What's the German one? Is he going in 'The Book'?"_

The Book.

But it was gone. Alex continued to grapple with the thought, wrestling it as if her life depended on it. Her eyes scrunched up with effort, but to no avail. It was gone.

Rubbing her hands over her face in desperation, she felt her heart rate soar. These vivid thoughts were becoming more frequent, and alerted a small part of her brain to an idea that seemed impossible. Alex had accepted that she'd always been here, at Fenchurch, and working alongside Gene. She also accepted that their relationship hadn't always been perfect. Something about that love/hate thing. But more recently she was entertaining an idea that threatened the foundation of their world.

_What if she hadn't always been here?_

Suddenly, Alex didn't want a cup of tea. She wanted answers. Uncurling her legs and swinging them forwards, Alex leapt off the desk. Calling into the kitchenette to Gene, she marched out of the room. "I'll see you later. I've got something I need to look into." Her voice travelled back to the kitchen and by the time Gene came to look, Alex was already long gone.

* * *

Three hours later, Alex and Gene's living room was unrecognisable.

Everything was scattered everywhere. The aquamarine carpet had disappeared under the boxes that Alex had removed from the attic. On the coffee table sat the phone and newest digital computer, but they were supposed to be on the desk. But, the desk itself was covered in police reports and form dating back to the early eighties.

Dispersed over the remaining floor between the sofa and the beginning of the kitchen area were Alex's notes. One thing stood out – _"Am I mad, in a coma, or back in time?"_ – And it seemed to hold the answer to everything she valued.

Alex liked to think that she was an analytical person as well as logical, but to no avail as there was nothing here to shed light on that terrifying thought. Although, that didn't explain why a few dates kept popping into her mind. _20__th__ July. 10__th__ October. 12__th__ November. _

Still puzzled, Alex passed it off as her simply being a bit mad. She always had been, ever since she arrived.

* * *

When she arrived back at the station, the desk sergent caught her. "DCI Drake, there's a girl in reception who is requesting to see you."

She nodded, "I've got to go get the Guv." The sergent smiled. "I mean, I've got to go get DCI Hunt. Get one of the Police Constables to sit with her."

"Um...she's panicked. And...she asked for you specifically."

"Okay then, we'll be along in a few minutes – take her to interview room one."

* * *

As Alex sat at her heavy black desk, she started to type out the interview tape. When she and Gene had entered the Suite, the sight of the girl had been shocking. She had pushed herself as far into the corner at possible and her back and shoulders were hunched in an awkward position. Dangling limply from her head were strands of greasy and knotted brown hair. Hollow eyes had met Alex's with an expression of relief, fear and helplessness.

Shaking the image of the girl from her head, Alex pressed _play _on the digital recorder.

"_This interview was conducted in interview room one. Present are DCI Alex Drake and DCI Gene Hunt of CID. We are interviewing a possible attack or rape victim. Interview commenced on Tuesday 11__th__ November at sixteen oh six."_

"_Hello. My name is Alex. You're safe now. Nobody can hurt you. Okay? _

There was a brief pause where the girl did not answer.

"_Okay, what's your name?"_

"_My name is Jessica. Jessica Nightingale."_

"_Okay Jessica, so what are you reporting? Or would you like to write it down?"_

There was another pause. Alex remembered the girl had glanced fearfully at Gene.

"_Would you like DCI Hunt to leave?"_

"_Yes please."_

There was a scraping on the tape as Gene pushed his chair back. He threw Alex a look of hatred – a look meant for the person who's done this.

"_Thank you...Alex."_

"_No problem. Now, why have you come to see us?"_

There was rustling on the tape, and in her minds eye, Alex saw the girl take off her hoodie.

"_I was attacked. It was a man. He was about your height with dark brown hair. He had a husky voice, but all he said were names. Like a chant."_

"_What names did he say, Jessica?"_

"_Umm...Alex, I think. Yeah, that was it. Alex and Molly."_

At this point, Alex stopped the recording. What was going on around here?

* * *

"Ma'am, you're not going t' believe this," Jeanette said as Alex strolled through the CID Squad Room, the following day "There's been another attack; the girl is waiting in interview room two."

When Gene and Alex arrived at interview room two, Alex honestly thought it was Jessica. They two girls were the same height, had the same hair colour, and even had the same _eye _colour. Additionally, they had the same wounds on their bodies and both claimed the guy had said the names "Alex" and "Molly".

Piecing together the information on this case was hard; it appeared that the man had worn gloves, used a clean knife and worn a balaclava. Great.

"Right then!" Gene called out to CID after Alex had told him the case details. "This has become one of our toughest cases yet. I want results! These attacks hav' been planned an' carefully followed through." He glanced at Alex warily. After all, she had written this little speech. "Myself and Bolly Knickers 'r' gonna assess the crime scenes while the rest of you can divide the following tasks between you: searching for suspects wiv previous, revisiting old case files for similarities and keeping an eye on forensics. Bolls – lets go."

* * *

The team had worked hard for the rest of the day, making notes, scanning case reports and collecting forensic evidence. But they'd had no breakthroughs. Gene was angry. Alex was analysing. Matt was writing on the board. And Harry and Jeanette were organising surveillance of the scene. About 4 o'clock, Gene emerged from his office.

He appeared his usual demanding, Neanderthal self when he ordered for everyone to "Pull in their snouts." He carried the air of authority and one by one officers took their places and pulled up chairs. "We need to know if they've heard anything abou' this scumbag." Nobody moved. "Mush!" he bellowed, and they fled, leaving CID a ghost town. Turning towards Alex, he ordered her into his office.

But when she settled on his desk and he shut the door, Alex saw a different Gene Hunt. His features were tired and he was actually beginning to look old. Metaphorically, obviously, since neither of them could. His stance looked almost defeated – his eyes haunted by what had happened to those girls. Despite his tough exterior, Gene Hunt really cared, and Alex guessed that's why she fell in love with him.

* * *

Gene sat down heavily in chair, picked up the half full whiskey tumbler and placed his feet on the desk. "Yer can go home, if you want. Get yourself ready. I'll pick you up at six – wear something...classy." A strange looked crossed his face as if he was going to say something else but had forgotten. Or maybe it was a distant memory.

"Taking me to dinner, are you? Alex teased. "Makes a change." Realisation dawned, "what's the date?"

Gene tucked his hands in his pockets and shifted uncomfortably. "12th of November, Wednesday."

A little smile played on Alex's lips. "Every year to take me to dinner – are you trying to apologise for something?"

Suddenly, something flashed in front of her eyes. A memory, perhaps. It was of a churchyard. There was somebody lying on the ground. _I will shoot. _Were they dead? _I know._ A beeping sound filled her ears and she felt like she was clinging on to newfound hope. Then she stumbled, and there was a shout. _Bolly! Gene...? _Then...a bright white light...four faces looked down on her. One was dressed in white – she looked like an angel. But they were frowning...or something like that. But...that was all she remembered.

Alex frowned and shook her head. "Okay then, see you at six."

* * *

Hooking her silvery black earrings through her ears, Alex thought about what she knew. Gene and herself were under no illusion, they knew they were dead. Occasionally, when they were alone on a cold, dark winters day, they would talk about how it felt. But Keats had got it right all those years ago, they did have a life – they laughed, they drank, they loved. They all had a second chance. Sometimes it bothered Alex, especially when she worried about seeing "The Other Alex Drake" as they referred to her. That would be hard to explain.

But everything else had melted away. Their job was to help officers find peace and cross over, while keeping Keats away. Gene lost one of his men to Keats and it wouldn't happen again. Alex didn't know how long she'd been here, or how she even got here. But she had a job to do – and there was always more scum to catch.

She sighed softly and smoothed the dress down. It was quite a simple design, but very fashionable. The sleek black material clung to every curve. It was strapless, but had a halter neck and lace that settled gently on the skin between her neck baseline and the top of the dress. It was classy – not too short, but not concealing everything, either.

Applying the last of her make-up, Alex wondered why today was always so important to Gene. Every year since they'd been together, he had taken to dinner. She tried to remember if anything significant had happened, but couldn't recall.

_Everything is significant. So, your brain is made of up puzzle pieces for you to solve. Because that is the way I will get strong. NO! I've lost track of where I'm from. I had to make sure it was you Alex. You're starting to forget. Oscar Papa Romeo.I thought it was all in my head. Operation Rose. King Doug job. Sounds like a porn star. The van will be diverted. I have to fight him. Time is running out. Operation Rose. Operation Rose. Operation..._

"Hope yer ready Bolls, cuz if yer not, I'm draggin' you outta here in yer knickers!"

Alex blinked. The conversations, the voices, they sounded so familiar. So vivid. What was going on?

* * *

"Here's to us," Alex toasted as their meal arrived. "And to the new team...and that absent DI wherever they are."

"Here here," Gene replied. "I wonder when he's gonna show his face."

"Dunno, could be a woman," Alex replied, taking a sip of her wine.

"Bloody hell! I hope not!" Gene spluttered with a look of outrage of his face. "At this rate yer be taking over the place."

She snorted, "I remember when you said there wouldn't be a woman prime minister while you still had..."

"Oh shut up Mrs Women." A comfortable silence descended for a while before Gene asked warily. "When did I say tha'?"

"Um...I don't know. It was a while ago. Back in '83, I think." She blinked, absolutely puzzled. "Although, I'm not sure. I remember you saying it. We were in a bar – it looks like La Verità and we were talking about an election. Shaz said Labour would never lead us into a pointless war. I laughed and began to reply with something like..."Well actually...never mind. I'll leave you to find that one out for yourselves." Odd, that's all I remember."

Gene watched her talk about that memory – a look of happiness settled in her eyes. She smiled at something else – another memory, perhaps. For her, the memory was distant. But for him, it felt like yesterday.

Because if Alex had looked at Gene closely while she was talking, she would have noticed he flinched and then stiffened every time she mentioned Shaz. He'd been practically holding his breath waiting for the inevitable question to arise, but thankfully it hadn't yet. You see, Alex thought that both she and Gene knew the same things. She was wrong. Gene had been here longer and built up a tolerance to forgetting. He...

"Gene?" Alex whispered, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. "Who's Shaz?"

The question had been asked.

How could he tell her that since 1983, when she walked out of the Pub, he'd still remembered everything? And she hadn't. He remembered the 20th July; Molly's birthday. 10th October 1981; the day her parents were killed. 12th November 1982; the day he shot her during the King Douglas Lane Robbery. 21st May 1983; the day Alex turned her back on the Pub. To stay with him.

He didn't quite meet her eyes. "An old friend...she was a WPC at the station. She...transferred." It wasn't quite a lie.

"Ohh..." then she frowned and started muttering. "She was the one who looked like an angel. All dressed in white...in the churchyard...after the gunshot..."

"Alex?" Gene called softly, "are you feeling alright?"

She took a breath and repeated key words to him, "do you remember a churchyard...a gun shot...Oscar Papa Romeo...Operation Rose...King Doug Job...what does it mean?"

Only one memory from that day stood out: the look on Alexs' face when she realised he'd shot her. As she fell the ground, Shaz had looked at him intently. It was a look he could never explain.

Luckily, Gene was saved from answering that question when his phone buzzed. Retrieving it from his suit pocket, Gene sighed and flipped it up. He talked for a few minutes while Alex finished her meal. A grim expression filled his features - something bad had happened.

"We've gotta go. CID just called, there's a girl makin' a racket outside our 'ouse."

"What?" Alex queried, grabbing her jacket as Gene left some notes on the table, "What's she saying?"

"Haven't a clue. Find out when we get there."

* * *

As Gene and Alex approached their house, it was a scene they never thought they'd witness in their neighbourhood. There were at least half a dozen plod cars and two undercover vehicles – all with their lights flashing and a one hadn't had the siren turned off yet. _Get the siren. Let me do it! I want to do it! _Shaking her head, Alex noticed the yellow tape surrounding the alleyway next to their house. Around it were members of the public, two of which were being interviewed. An ambulance was packing up their things, sirens still flashing.

As Jeanette turned, she saw her superior officers walking towards her. "Guv, Ma'am!" she called, "over here!" She led them to a gap in the tape and allowed them to walk through. A memory smacked Alex in the face. _Okay, talk to me sergeant. My daughters in the goddamn car! Fine! Armed response? On their way. Okay. Give me a minute._

Dismissing it, Alex followed Gene. In the middle of the taped off area was a young girl curled up on the pavement. Initially Alex thought she looked about twelve, but when she uncurled and started screaming and shouting again, she realised that was about mid-twenties. The sun was beginning to set, and the light caught on the girls' clothes. They were fashionable – flowered leggings that clung to her curves and mid thigh length black top. Her skinny arms were thrashing around on the pavement. She looked demented – or high.

"Starting talking sergeant," Alex instructed.

"Well-"

"Has she been attacked?" Alex interrupted immediately.

"No. Well, we don't think so."

"'Don't think so?'" mimicked Gene, "Yer didn't think ter find out? Bolls, wiv me."

Dismissing the sergeant, Gene and Alex approached the girl. As the neared her, they realised what she was saying.

"Help me! Please, somebody help! I've been shot – I need an ambulance. Help!" Her tone was panicky and her voice extremely shrill. She was rolling around on the floor helplessly.

"Keeps saying she's been shot," said Jeanette quietly, "but the ambulance can't find any blood, or previous wounds. She's not drunk or high either." Alex and Gene exchanged a worried glance. In the corner of their eye, the girl was still hitting the tarmac. "We couldn't go near her; she floored two officers." Jeanette checked her notes. "Oh, and she reckons that her name is DCI Molly Caroline Lewis – head of CID."

When the girl heard her name, she paused and clambered slowly to her feet. Breathing heavily and glaring at anyone who looked as if they would arrest her, she looked straight at the three of them.

"Guv, Ma'am. She could be armed."

"Be quiet WPC Hale. We don't need 'elp from a plonk."

"Gene Hunt!" Alex chided. The girls' mouth opened slightly. "There's no need to be rude." Alex took a step closer to the girl, but wasn't focusing properly. The crowd of onlookers fell silent and watched the well-known criminal psychologist approach the girl.

"Drake! " Gene retorted! "Get back here!" Rolling his eyes as Alex made no attempt to move, he called her again and walked forward, "Alex!"

As Gene approached Alex, the girl gasped loudly. She glanced between them; a look of incredibility, fear, and relief appeared on her features. "I don't believe it...Gene Hunt?" The bag she was holding slammed to the floor like a ton of bricks. Her eyes moved to Alex as she whispered, "Mum...?" Eyes skyward, the girl tottered forward, tripped over and crashed into the tarmac.

She'd fainted.

Smirking, Alex stated calmly, "My reputation precedes me," but didn't know why it felt familiar.

Gene rolled his eyes and marched forward to pick her up. "Bloody Drake women!" he muttered on instinct, and without thinking.

Alex, who had been surveying the scene of onlookers for anybody suspicious, turned on her heel and frowned at him, "What did you say?" She said with a dangerous glint in her eye.

Covering himself quickly, Gene replied, "Nowt yer should be worried abou' Bolls."

Taking a few steps closer to Gene, Alex watched as a fleeting look of panic crossed his face. She was just about to reply when she caught sight of the limp girl in Gene's arms. She half smiled with content – and at an old memory. _It's a comfy place to be,_ she thought happily. But he's never carried me like that. Or has he?

Suddenly, it was as if a floodgate had opened. Memories, feelings and thoughts rushed towards her. She remembered a very short red dress. _If that thing was any shorter, I'd see what you had for breakfast. _A fur coat. Black stockings and a red car. Those boots. _Gene Hunt?_ He saved her from that awful boat. _Classiest prozzie I've seen all week._ But how did she get there?

Alex couldn't remember. But there was a gunshot – had somebody on the boat been killed? _Ohhhh, Vienna. _No, the gun was pointed at her. Dark sunglasses. Greasy hair. The boat was cold and damp. But how did she get there? She'd been hauled down to the docks. _I know who you are, love. Tim and Caroline Price's daughter. I'll tell her the truth about why her parents died! Tick Tock. Alex! Come back. _She was in charcoal suit. What? That made no sense. She always wore fashionable clothes to work.

_Some music, Alex? _A red balloon. _We're going to be late. _Flames and heat. Anger and failure. _I'm happy, hope you're happy too. NO! Don't shoot! That's my little girl! I'm coming back to you Molly._ A girl in the corner of her eye. In the reflection on the TV_. Don't shoot! Molly! BANG! Molly! My daughter...she's somebody that I used to know. I'm coming back to you, Molly. We'll blow the candles out together._

_Molly. _Molly. Molly Drake. Molly Caroline Drake. Molly Caroline Lewis.

No...It couldn't be. But after the memories had settled, and Alex made connections, suddenly her world was lighter. It was as if a switch had been flicked. With renewed thoughts, Alex surveyed the girl. Her cropped bob and fringe meant she could have been any young woman. Four grips held the stray bits of hair away from her face. Upon closer inspection, Alex noted that her makeup was actually immaculate, leading her to believe that the girl hadn't cried. How odd. She still could have been any young woman.

As Gene settled her into the car, called for plod to send the onlookers home, and ordered forensics onto the scene, the girls face rolled towards Alex. Her breath caught in her throat and she raised a hand to her heart. Yes, it could have been any young woman. But the mole on her cheek gave her away.

It really was Molly.

* * *

**Authors Note: **_I hope you liked it! Next chapter won't be up for a while, but there might be a sneak peek for anybody who reviews xD_

Finding Answers xx


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